


23:30

by pengie



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengie/pseuds/pengie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about Hubert, Pascal, and one bed between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	23:30

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! This fic is about Hubert, Pascal, and, uh, adult things.
> 
> If you are not familiar with my ToG work on That Other Fanfiction Site, this fic is part of my strangely extensive HubertxPascal headcanon. It occurs between "negai" and "futatsu boshi." This is actually a rewrite of the original 23:30, which I DID post on That Other Site, but took down due to, you know, fears of getting banned and stuff. Oh, and this is part one of three as well!
> 
> Enjoy, I suppose :D

Pascal has a lot of bad habits, and after living with her for half a year, Hubert is familiar with them all. She forgets to bathe unless prompted, eats poorly unless supervised, doesn't brush her hair, leaves her clothing and books and even banana peels scattered around the house in the worst places, and is prone to chattering on nonstop about one thing or another until she's breathless or being told to stop.

But the worst habit is one she's developed as a direct consequence of living in Strahta. Although Hubert is used to the year-round warmth of the desert oasis that is Yu Liberte, Pascal struggles on a daily basis with the heat. She modifies a few of her uniform jackets to sport short sleeves (thankfully, the president isn't picky about her attire) and puts nearly all of her other projects on hold to install cooling systems in public buildings. Even in early December, she complains loudly and at length about how hot she is --

\-- and _that_ , Hubert guesses, is why she's picked up the worst habit possible, which is parading around the house with no clothing on.

Well, he corrects himself, with a snort of annoyance, _almost_ no clothing on. He's not sure which is worse: the fact that she's nearly naked, or the fact that she's not entirely naked. It's almost as if, he surmises, he wants to be scandalized in such a way --

But he doesn't, and that's exactly why he's standing in the entrance of the living room, arms crossed, glaring at her and blushing so hot he can feel it in his toes.

"It's too hot to wear pants right now," she's saying, all the while bending over to pick pieces of some invention or another off of the floor, granting him a lovely view of her cleavage, and -- oh, _god_ , Hubert is going to pretend he didn't just see that. She's wearing panties and a bra and a thin, tight tank top that covers almost none of it. Though he'd known her to dress like this in private -- that is, after going to bed in their separate rooms -- she's become braver lately, almost as if she's flaunting herself, on purpose, as if she's trying to give him an eyeful. And based on the way she's been acting over the last few weeks, well... maybe she is. He can't quite be sure. "You know it's not supposed to be this freakin' hot around Christmas, right? Is it always this way?"

"Yes," he manages, and clears his throat. "Regardless, if you are going to be doing your work in here, I would appreciate it if you made at least an effort to dress yourself properly."

"Like I just said, Hu, it's too hot for pants." She straightens, and he sees her give him a critical look, one pale eyebrow raised. "Besides, it's not like you can see anything."

"I beg to differ."

"Oh yeah?" She laughs, gathering metal pieces together in her hands, and walks in the direction of where he stands in the doorway. "Is it bothering you?"

He clears his throat again, uncomfortable, and reminds himself that his eyes belong on hers, not any lower, not anywhere else but on her face. "You know the answer to that," he says, and she most certainly does, based on the wicked sort of grin she gives him. "You may think that this is a laughing matter, Pascal, but I will not have you -- prancing around our home in your undergarments, as if you are some kind of -- of -- "

"Did you seriously just say "prancing," Hubert?"

"... yes."

"Sheesh." She rolls her eyes, and based on the way she's just used his full name, he can tell that she's irritated. "Fine, alright, I'll wear some more clothing. You act like it's the end of the freaking world if you see me wearing any less than I usually do, though. What are you gonna do when we finally sleep together, huh? Are we gonna do it with the lights all out under the covers like some old married couple, or -- "

" _Pascal!_ " he interrupts, and his voice comes out as a high-pitched yelp. "To -- to think that I would even entertain thoughts of -- of doing _that_ \-- before marriage -- "

"Here we go again," she sighs, and shakes her head. "Fine. Forget it. I'm going to bed."

He looks down at her, blinking once, and this time when he speaks his words come soft and careful. "I didn't mean to say that... that I didn't... What I meant to say was that I... I simply have trouble... controlling myself, and -- "

"Save your breath, hon," she cuts him off, and gives him a little half-smile before standing up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. "We've been through this already. I'm too tired to argue about it anymore. So I'll see you in the morning, alright?"

"I..." He steps aside from the doorway, reluctantly, watching her pass -- and forgetting again to keep his eyes up, giving himself a very nice view of the way her hips swing from side to side as she walks, the way her underwear has crept up just a bit, exposing the round, pale curves of her ass, and -- "Pascal," he says, remembering suddenly what he is supposed to be looking at. "I didn't mean to upset you. There is no need for you to go to sleep, if you are not ready."

"Nah. Like I said, I'm tired." She smiles over her shoulder at him before disappearing through the kitchen into the hallway, and he stands still, listening to the sound of her climbing the stairs to the second floor room that is her bedroom. "Night," he hears her call, once, and then everything is quiet.

And Hubert is angry at himself, for at least the fifth time this week, over how badly he wants to climb those stairs and pull off what little she's wearing and sacrifice his morality in the name of pleasure.

He wants her so bad he can almost taste it, and he hates it, hates _himself_ for it.

It's with a heavy, almost depressed sigh that he retires to his own bedroom, shutting the door carefully behind him as he enters. He doesn't bother with a light or candle, because the curtains are drawn back from the wide windows on the far wall, and the moon in the sky above casts a white glow on everything. He goes to the windows and cracks them all open, just enough to let in fresh air, and casts a glance at his clothing -- he is already wearing a pair of sleep pants and a thin short-sleeved shirt -- before deciding to retire to bed. It's not particularly late, and the next day is Saturday, so he would have time to sleep in, should he choose to stay awake, but...

But, he thinks, and cringes a bit, he has no reason to stay awake if Pascal is upset with him. He had been hoping for her company, because his day has been long and stressful, but he's gone and ruined his opportunity to have her curl up in bed with him, dozing off with her head nestled against his chest in a way that makes him feel happy and wanted and loved. He needs her company, after days like the one he's had. But when he gets fixated on something ridiculous, like how she walks around half-naked --

Well, he stops himself, not wanting any unnecessary bouts of guilt, it _is_ ridiculous.

He paces to his bed and tugs down the neat, smoothed blanket and sheets, exposing several pillows, and slides inside with another loud sigh. It is ridiculous, he thinks, that she continues to dress herself in such a way, even in private, because she knows what it does to him. When he sees her like that, he has trouble thinking, sometimes even breathing, and his body...

Oh, his body, his horrible, misbehaving, no-good _body_. It just wouldn't be a complete wreck of a situation if he didn't almost always manage to get an erection each and every time he sees her without clothes on.

He rolls over in bed and places his glasses on the nightstand, closing his eyes and trying not to think about it. But his brain doesn't like to cooperate, either, not when it comes to the subject of Pascal and a lack of clothing.

He's free to think about it all he wants, here in the privacy of his room, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to think about the way she looks when she's running late in the mornings and sprinting out of the bathroom in only a towel, rushing up the stairs to get dressed. He doesn't want to think about the way her casual tank tops and shorts leave little to the imagination, reveal long, slender, snow-white arms and legs and even a hint of midriff when she bends over or stretches back in her chair. And he definitely doesn't want to think about the way she's unable to find many shirts that can accommodate her bust, unusually large for her small frame. He doesn't want to think about any of this --

But oh, but he _does_ think about it, all of it, and more often than he wants to admit. And as he lies in bed right now, alone in the half-dark, he's really thinking about it, and really wanting her, and when he feels a familiar twinge in his groin, he is ashamed. But stopping those thoughts is almost out of the question. They're not going to stop now, not when the sight of her in underwear and precious little else is still fresh in his mind.

He breathes in, and then out, shakily, knowing he is powerless to stop his body's reaction to the thoughts. Normally he is a composed individual, able to control himself and his reactions in any scenario, but the sight of the woman he loves most in next to nothing -- and the implication of what might happen next -- reduces him to a blabbering, boneless mess of a man.

Although he wants to focus his thoughts on something, anything else, he is already imagining a different end to the encounter that has just taken place. He wonders what might have happened if he'd done something unexpected -- if instead of scolding her, he'd gone to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissed her, and told her how beautiful she looked. She would have been happy, probably would have kissed him back, and then they would have continued, surely. They would have continued kissing, then would have progressed to touching, and then he would have taken her to bed and --

 _Oh_ , he thinks, and opens his eyes just briefly, just because he's surprised by the throb that comes low in the pit of his stomach. He grimaces, and he is beyond disgusted with himself, but even so he knows full well that he needs to do... something... to relieve himself of this wanting. If he doesn't, he won't be able to sleep. He's tried numerous times to go without a release, but all it provides him is a mostly sleepless night full of tossing and turning. As much as he dislikes... well... self-pleasure...

He closes his eyes again, pressing his lips tight together, and reaches down to slip a hand inside of his briefs. As much as he dislikes the process of masturbation, it does keep him from doing anything truly immoral. He can grant himself a quiet, secret moment of fantasizing about Pascal, can give himself the release he desires, and all without hurting her, or himself, or their relationship.

He _does_ feel guilty about doing such a thing, especially without her knowledge, but if he were to give in, and do something else -- something real and physical, something with her -- it would be worse. He wants to stand by his teachings, and wait until marriage for intimacy. And even though he knows that those teachings don't necessarily mirror his beliefs anymore --

No. He can think about that later, tomorrow, once he's past this. For now, he wants to rid himself of this erection, this shameful thing. So he wraps one hand carefully around his dick and shuts his eyes tight, thinking of what it would be like if Pascal was the one pleasuring him, if instead of his hand -- he begins moving his hand now, up and down, at a steady pace -- it was her fingers, her hands, even her mouth and tongue. He wonders to himself what she would look like naked, thinks about feeling her breasts in his hands, about pressing her to his bed and kissing the curve of her neck, her chest, her stomach, the inside of her thighs. He focuses his mind on one fantasy that he likes best, where she crawls into bed with him and takes him into her mouth, and does everything he likes until --

He hears something that might be footsteps on the stairs leading from the second floor to the first and freezes, eyes opening wide, a breath escaping from his mouth in the form of a gasp. He lies perfectly still and listens, waiting. He thinks that Pascal must have come back down the stairs, but surely she is only going to the bathroom, or getting a drink of water -- surely she isn't going to open the door and come into his room --

He's wrong. Of _course_ he's wrong. His door opens with a soft creak, and he tries not to groan as he hears her voice. "Umm... Hu...?"

"Yes?" he asks, and doesn't move, because god help him if she notices anything; he's fully beneath the sheets, but his arm is probably still positioned oddly. "W -- what is it?"

"I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to act like that." He can hear the hesitation in her voice, and even in the midst of his lust it upsets him, because he knows full well that he is the cause of it. "Can I come in, maybe...?"

Oh. _Well_. He has no idea how to handle this request. If he tells her no, she's sure to pry, or might even become more upset. If he tells her yes, she might figure out what he has been doing, and that could upset her, too. He really can't win, no matter what he says. So he lies still and wonders what she'll do if he just doesn't say anything at all --

"Are you mad at me?" she asks, and her voice is nearly a whisper, and no, no, no, he can't do nothing, not when she's talking like this -- "Hu, I'm sorry, I promise I -- "

"Come here," he says, firmly, and carefully pulls his hand out of his briefs and pants, careful not to move too quickly, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn't been closer to making a mess all over himself. She walks slowly to his bed, and if she's noticed anything odd, she doesn't say anything about it. "I am not mad at you," he tells her, lifting his head on the pillow it occupies to look into her eyes. "Not at all. But I am tired."

"Can I," she starts, and when he realizes what she's about to ask he is thrown headlong into a panic, "sleep here tonight...?"

"I -- er -- to tell you the truth, I -- " He is stammering and can't help it, because the second she slides into bed with him she's going to snuggle right up to his body and feel that ridiculous bulge in his pants, and that is the last thing he wants to happen. " -- I have been having trouble sleeping, lately, and I am afraid that I will be -- tossing and turning quite a bit, and -- and I don't want to keep you awake -- "

"... Hu?"

" -- so I feel that -- I think it would be for the best if perhaps we did not occupy the same -- bed -- Pascal!"

"You're acting funny," she announces, and has already tossed back the covers to expose... well, nothing, yet, thank the heavens, but his erection is just below where the sheets have settled, and no, _no_ , she cannot be doing this. "You really don't want me here, do you?"

"That isn't it at all, I simply -- I don't want you to sleep restlessly." He swallows down the lump in his throat and tries to ignore the way his heart is beating fast as she slips into bed beside him. "It has nothing to do with -- with earlier -- "

She fixes him with a confused expression, cocking her head to one side -- and then, as if something has dawned on her, something delightful, she leans over, bringing her lips so close to his that he can feel her breath on his mouth. "You're lying," she declares, rather happily, and giggles. "You are such a bad liar."

"B -- be quiet! I am not -- "

"Okay, so what's going on? There's gotta be something..." She bites down on her bottom lip, studying his face, and then her gaze shifts down -- down -- and the alarms start going off at full volume in his head as her eyes fix on one particular area still covered by a sheet, and he scrambles to roll onto his back, clutching at the covers, but it does no good whatsoever, because she's already pouncing on him. Damn her, he thinks as he struggles, for being so _smart_ \-- "Hu," she laughs, and yanks the sheets out of his hands, and then there's an immediate flush on her cheeks and a gasp falling out of her mouth as she sees the way he's still hard, the way his erection is poking forward in his pants. "Oh, wow..."

He grits his teeth. "DON'T. LOOK."

"Shut it," she tells him, immediately, apparently unaffected by the tone he's used, which he normally reserves for men he wants to murder in cold blood. "I was totally right..."

He blushes and turns his head away and tries to cover the bulge with his hands -- not an easy feat. "Pascal, please don't say or do anything; you are incapable of knowing how absolutely -- how _horrible_ this is for me -- "

" _Shut it_ ," she says again, and to his surprise there's a trace of anger in her voice this time. He feels his hands being swatted away and cringes -- and then she's touching him and oh, no, why is she _touching_ him _there_ \-- "Wow," she breathes, and the awe in her voice is silly and stupid and why is she touching him and why isn't he doing anything about it?! "You're... wow, Hu..."

"D -- d -- _don't_!" he finally forces out, and reaches for her wrists, yanking them away from his erection. "It isn't a -- a show and tell project that you can just -- just put your hands all over -- !"

She pouts. "You don't want me to touch you?"

"NO."

"Aw, seriously?" She blinks down at him. "Then how come you're like this in the first place, huh? Were you maybe..." Her eyes widen. "Were you, like -- you know -- um -- " She makes a motion with her hand that he hopes to whatever god exists that he never, _ever_ sees again. " ... doing that?"

"I am not going to answer that question," he starts, and wants to die of embarrassment, "because it is -- vile, and -- and -- "

"Hubert." She smiles and laughs, and he drops her wrists out of sheer shock. "It's not vile. I kinda figured you did that, you know? I mean..." She's blushing again, and she looks away for a moment, reaching up to scratch the top of her head. "I... do it too, sometimes. Considering how we're living together and... um... yeah..." She laughs again, but it's a nervous sound this time, and he feels his dick twitch in response to the realization that Pascal has just admitted to pleasuring herself -- "So... I mean, you shouldn't be ashamed, yeah? It's a natural thing, and if we aren't gonna do it, then... since it's the only thing we can do, I guess..." She glances at him. "I mean, unless you let me do it for you."

His brain is going in so many different directions that he can only sputter out a breathless "what?" and look at her as if she's lost her mind. _Has_ she lost her mind? Has he lost _his_ mind? Maybe they've _both_ \--

"I mean," she starts again, slowly, without really looking at him, "unless you let me... um... you know. Get you off."

Hubert forgets how to breathe. There's a long pause and then he gasps for air, sitting halfway up in bed, reaching forward to wrap his hands around hers. "No," he begins, "no. You are not doing that."

She smiles shyly. "How come?"

"Because it's -- it's wrong!"

"Hubert," she says again, softly, and their eyes meet, "it isn't wrong. We love each other, don't we?" When he nods, hesitantly, she continues. "I know how you feel about... you know, going all the way. And I'm not gonna pressure you. I already told you I was done with that. But honestly, instead of the two of us sneaking around trying to keep a secret that we want to do those things, I mean..." She draws in a breath, and he notices for the first time that she is actually nervous. "... maybe we should just, sorta... help each other out?"

"Pascal," he starts, and then realizes that he has no idea what he wants to say. Despite his mortification, he is still hard -- throbbing, actually, thanks to the few precious seconds of her hand settling on the bulge in his pants, and the brief mention of her self-pleasure. He knows full well that allowing her to ... take matters into her own hands, so to speak ... would probably be considered wrong, morally speaking. But now that she knows his secret, now that they have both admitted to this secret act…

Strangely, he thinks, and hates himself for it, it would be easier to allow her to satisfy him, and perhaps to even satisfy her in return --

\-- and the fleeting yet vivid thought that enters his mind, one of the thoughts he had been entertaining before she barged into his bedroom, sends an immediate shudder through his body. He wants to see her naked on his bed, wants to give her pleasure, wants to be the reason she reaches her peak. So if agreeing to one thing will allow him to have the other...

"Do you really want to do this?" he asks, and his voice comes quietly, but more steady than he expects. She tilts her head slightly, as if she's not sure what he's asking, so he continues. "If -- if I agree, it's -- it's only because I do love you, very much so, and because this is the next step in our relationship. I'm not -- I don't want to take advantage of you, or pressure you into acting a certain way, but -- "

"Hey," she stops him, and shakes her head, "no. I know it's not like that. But you gotta understand, I..." She looks briefly to the bulge in his pants, then bites down gently on her bottom lip, pulling one hand out of his grasp and laying it softly atop his erection. He shudders again, almost violently this time, and she smiles. "Ever since things started getting kinda hot and heavy between us, I couldn't stop thinking about doing this kind of thing. I'm totally okay waiting to go further, but if I think it makes more sense for me just to... you know, give you what you want... instead of you jerking off all alone in your bed."

"D -- do you have to use such crude terminology?!"

"Sorry." She laughs, waving her free hand at him. "But, uh... so... are you giving me permission? 'cause if you want me to, I am gonna be all over you faster than you can say "eleth mixer.""

He stares at her. "I sometimes wonder if I will ever understand you."

"Yes or no, Hu. I'm waiting." She squeezes him gently, and oh, _oh_ , just that movement makes him see stars, makes his blood boil in his veins. "And so's your -- "

"Fine," he interrupts her, not wanting to hear her choice of words for _that_ , "but I -- if I ask you to stop -- "

"If you say stop, I'll stop." She nods. "Okay?"

"Fine," he agrees, reluctantly, and the shame that washes over him borders on painful. He knows full well what he was taught, and that this is most certainly against it. But he is already living in sin -- already sharing a home and sometimes even a bed with a woman he has not yet married -- and so if he has already gone against those teachings, already accepted a different form of morality for himself, then...

It's fine, he thinks, and tries his hardest to believe it, because this is all they're doing. Nothing more. And if they decide to proceed any further, well... it is a bridge they will cross when they come to it. But for tonight, just for tonight, all that will happen --

His thoughts die abruptly when he feels Pascal's hand run slowly across the bulge in his pants, stroking him oh-so-slowly. His sleep pants are thin, and his briefs below even thinner, and so the sensation is real and intense and... interesting. She does this only once, and then she sits up, tossing the sheets back all the way. "I'm gonna stay right here," she tells him, sprawling out in the empty space beside him with her hand still on his erection, "alright?"

"... fine."

"So, um..." He thinks he sees the hint of a blush on her cheeks. "I've never done this before, so if I do something, like, horrible, please say something. And if I do something good... well, I guess I'll probably know, huh?"

"I... I am sure you will know." He swallows for what feels like the tenth time in the last five minutes, and his throat is dry and his heart beats so fast in his chest that he nearly expects it to burst right through. "I still cannot believe that I am agreeing to this."

"It's alright. I promise. You just gotta let me do all the work, and make you feel good." There's a pause, and she bends low to him, almost close enough for his erection to poke her in the face. "Can I... um... touch you? Like, really touch you? With my hand?"

"You _are_ touching -- " _Oh_. He realizes quite suddenly what she actually means to say. Oh lord, this is really happening -- "You may," he agrees, and she giggles at how stiff he sounds, and then he's cursing himself for the poor word choice in his mind. Stiff, like his -- right.

He watches her move, scooting closer on the bed, angling one arm so that she can slip her hand beneath his pants, then his underwear, and...

"It's warm," she declares, as her fingers wrap around him, and it's a struggle for him not to moan he takes in the sight of Pascal with one hand inside his clothing, touching his dick, and the sensation makes him jumpy and turns him on the same way he was turned on before, when he was stroking himself and thinking of taking her to bed. But this is better, because it's real, and just the skin on skin contact... "Mm," she remarks, and he looks up to see her lick her lips, "and it's... long, too. I mean, big..."

"It -- it is not. It's -- average." This is already too embarrassing for him, no matter how good it feels. He never once expected to be discussing penis size with Pascal, of all people. "It's nothing special."

"You _would_ say something like that," she remarks, and rolls her eyes, and before he can come up with some kind of retort she renders him completely able to speak, or think, or do more then release a completely unsteady groan of pleasure. She presses his palm to the front of his cock and strokes up and down, once, at a maddeningly slow rate. Her fingertips are soft on the sides, and her skin is -- oh, her skin on his, that feeling, he thinks he would die to have it more than this once. "Wow," she murmurs, pausing, "I've never heard you make that sound before."

He manages, somehow, to be articulate for the entirety of three seconds. "Please do that again."

"Alrighty!" she agrees, cheerfully, and he thinks that if he wasn't wanting badly to have an orgasm at her hands, he would be scolding her for making light of such a serious situation. He actually considers saying something, just once... but then she follows his command and strokes him again, and he is now a hundred and twenty percent certain that this feels better, far better, than touching himself in secret. Had he known that his girlfriend would have been so willing from the very start to do such a thing...

"Want me to keep going?" she asks. "I mean, are you sure this -- "

" _Yes_."

"Hehe. That's what I like to hear." She strokes him again, and after a few more cautious movements she falls into a slow rhythm, her hand moving steadily beneath his pants. The way her palm moves gently across his skin is maddening and terrible and wonderful, and he can do nothing but lie back with his head propped up on a pillow, fighting down the groans that rise into his mouth. It feels so good, his objections and morality be damned --

"Do you think about me, Hu?"

He tenses, and apparently she feels it all the way down to... there, because he hears her giggle, sees a fluttering of her pale lashes against her cheeks as she opens her eyes, then closes them again. "When you... do this to yourself, I mean..."

"I," he starts, and doesn't know what to say because her touch is still there, her palm still soft against him, moving slowly, steadily. He thinks that he would tell her anything if she threatened to stop -- but she isn't stopping, is she? So what does it matter, if he confesses these things now? "I do," he answers, and although he feels his face flush, is embarrassed by his admission, the quiet hum of appreciation she makes keeps the words coming. "I think about -- you, and -- what I want to do -- "

"What _do_ you want to do?" she asks, and he feels her fingers trail down the length of him, and the upward stroke that follows sends a groan into his throat that he can't keep down. "You want to do something... with me, huh?"

"It's wrong," he protests, but there's a gasp at the end of his sentence because she's using more of her hand now, is learning as she goes along, and now she's gripping him tighter, just the way he likes it. "Pascal -- "

"Shh," she hushes him, and shifts on the bed, leaning over to brush her lips against his as her hand still moves inside of his pants. "Why is it wrong?"

"Because -- you know why it's wrong -- " He's finding it hard to breathe now; there's a warmth creeping through him, shaking his body slightly, and all he can think is not yet, no, not yet, not already. "We can't do... that. We shouldn't even be doing this -- _oh_ \-- !" He tenses again, but it's for a different reason this time, and Pascal makes a sensual kind of humming noise that makes his attempt to hold off the climax even harder. "Please stop," he begins, desperate, "I don’t want to -- “

"Alright," she says, softly, and he's granted a strange kind of half-relief when her hand slips away from his cock and out of his pants. He sighs shakily, paring a glance that the bulge his erection is making. He breathes in and out, trying to regain control, trying to remember his morals -- blast those ridiculous, unavoidable morals, the voices screaming inside his head for him to stop, stop, stop -- but then Pascal leans over him and kisses him, and the way she places her fingertips on his hip makes him shudder hard. "How do you want it, then?" she asks.

"I," he begins, and shuts his eyes tight, doesn't want to see the smile on her mouth any longer, doesn't want another glimpse at the way she is nearly naked beside him, wearing the same clothing from before, her ample chest just barely held within her tank top and bra, "no. We can't."

Her voice is low and sweet in his ear. "Do you want to have sex?"

"Yes -- no. _No_. Pascal -- " She reaches into his pants and touches him again, just with the tips of her fingers, and this shudder is stronger, sends another one of those unavoidable groans into his throat. " _Please_ \-- "

"I'm not going to push you," she murmurs, and feels her lips on his chin, then his neck, then his collarbone, and her fingers slowly circle his cock and he grabs at the bed with both hands. "You know that, yeah?"

He forces the answer. "Yes."

"But I can see how bad you want this..." Her lips are almost torture against his skin, moving down to his chest, and with each kiss he feels hotter, grows more nervous, more unsure of what she is doing. "Even if we don't go all the way... is it okay if I just... do a little fooling around...?"

"Fooling ar -- " He gasps and clutches at the bed again, his eyes snapping open, and he is both alarmed and impossibly turned on at the feeling of her mouth low on his stomach, at his navel, moving steadily in the direction of -- that, the throbbing thing beneath his pants. The idea that she would put her mouth on him -- well, it's what he was just fantasizing about, only minutes ago. But he has never thought, not for one second, that she might actually do it, that she might _want_ to do it…

"Why," he groans, and can do nothing but lie still, waiting, panting, "why are you doing this...?"

Her answer is simple and somehow playful. "'cause you want me to."

She's not wrong, so he doesn't correct her. And when she carefully slides his pants down from his hips, exposing his erection to the chill of the open air of his bedroom, he sucks in a breath and holds it, watching her examine him. He doesn't know what to expect as she bends low, amber eyes focused on his length, as if she's scrutinizing him, studying him. The thoughts that rush through his mind are all related to how unimpressed she must be, how he can't possibly pleasure her with what he has --

\-- and then she smiles sweetly and bows her head, running her fingers around the base of his cock as the very tip of her tongue emerges to make its way from the bottom to the top, and with just that slight hint of warmth and wetness rocks his body and threatens to destroy his very world.

"Does that feel good?" she asks, and she sounds unsure. How in the world, he wonders, can she not realize what she is _doing_ to him? He nods, once, and she gives him another one of those sweet smiles, lifting her free hand to comb her hair out of her eyes. "I seriously don't have a clue what I'm doing," she admits, and he isn't surprised, "so if something starts to make you feel all woozy -- in a bad way, I mean -- you just... have to yell at me, okay?"

"Fine," he agrees, and his voice cracks as he speaks again, "but you should not feel obligated to -- "

"Hu," she stops him, and gives him a look that he knows how to read by now, the one that means _shut up and let me do this_ , but in most situations she's shooting him that look because she's trying to figure out a particularly difficult problem or fix something that has broken around their house. The realization that she is giving him that look, the one intended to silence him, because she wants to pleasure him, well...

Well, he decides, watching open-mouthed as she bends to run her tongue across his skin again, maybe it would be a good idea to shut up after all.

Hubert already knows that Pascal is a fast learner, but the way she picks up on his soft grunts and groans and adjusts her movements to match is honestly -- to him, anyway -- impressive. She holds his erection carefully in the palm of one hand, her fingers wrapped carefully around him, and strokes her tongue up and down his length, swirling it around the tip and lingering low at the base, applying pressure in the places that make him the loudest. "You really want this, huh?" she asks after a while.

"You know that I do," he answers, and wonders if it's possible to be so embarrassed that it doesn't matter anymore, as if he's broken the barrier of mortification and come out on the other side a completely shameless man with a burning desire to get off at the hands of his similarly shameless girlfriend. "I -- " He pauses to gasp as her tongue dips into a particularly sensitive area, and no, he isn't quite done being embarrassed yet. "W -- what are you doing down th -- "

"Tell me what you think about."

He lifts his head, caught off guard, and stares at her. "What?"

"Tell me what you think about," she repeats, and lifts her head, returning to using her hands again, her fingers dragging slowly up and down his length and -- oh, god, Hubert doesn't think he can take this, the way she's manipulating him like it's nothing, the way she's apparently fascinated by how badly he needs to come, "when you're touching yourself."

"N -- no!" he sputters, and she immediately lifts her hands. He opens his mouth wide to protest, but he knows she is using her touch as a weapon and a reward, simultaneously, and he would rather risk embarrassment than he would be denied an orgasm at her hands. _Especially_ right now.

"Fine," he agrees, and sees her smile before her fingers fall to him again, moving in slow strokes. "I think about you. About -- " He turns his head hard to one side, because somehow in the middle of this kind of act he is still able to blush, " -- pulling you into bed with me."

"And?" she prompts him, and her voice is low and sort of husky, and if he wasn't already hard as a rock he thinks he would have managed an erection by that sound alone. "What next?"

"I -- "

"Skip the boring stuff," she interrupts, and he feels the warmth of her tongue on his cock and knows he is powerless to disobey that suggestion. "Get right down to business. What makes you feel good, huh?"

He wants to grit his teeth and refuse, stubbornly, but he decides in that moment that he's going to get her back, is going to punish her so bad once he's done with this, with embarrassing himself to death in the name of a release. "I think about you," he answers, "doing this."

"Mm," she comments, and there's more of her tongue there now, moving up and down, and oh, god -- "Go on..."

"... about," he continues, and there's warmth slowly creeping through him again, stronger than before, "your mouth... around me -- " No, he can't do this, this is mortifying -- "and the feeling of you... er..."

There's something in her voice that is new and amazing, something dark and full of wanting. "Sucking on you?"

"Yes," he confirms, and the word is barely out of his mouth when his wildest dream comes true. Her tongue swirls fast and wet around his dick before it's slid between her lips, and although he's certain she has no idea what she's doing, it feels good -- so fucking good, he thinks, allowing the profanity to enter his mind just this once, just because the occasion merits it. There's a hot kind of pressure, followed by the feeling of her mouth sliding up, then down again, her tongue stroking him along with the movement.

“Pascal -- “ It's suddenly a struggle for him to stop talking. "Just like that," he says, because he can't help it, wants her to know he appreciates it, "like you just did -- again, please."

She hums a little, perhaps to signify her understanding, and it sends a tingle all the way from his cock up to his shoulders, bare and trembling against the bottom of his pillow. " _Pascal_ ," he gasps, "that..."

This time she giggles, and it doesn't feel good but he still feels it, all the way through his body, and he still can't believe she's sucking his dick, and the words that are flying through his head now are dirty and profane and wanted badly. "Don't," he starts, and he isn't above begging, "don't stop -- "

"I won't," she answers, sliding him out of her mouth to answer, and immediately he misses the sensation of her tongue on his skin. "Just keep talking, Hu... I wanna hear you tell me everything."

"Everything," he murmurs, and lifts his head from the pillow to look down on her, at where she's curled between his legs. "You -- do you want to know what else I think about?" She nods, watching him, and he sits even though his body is weak and doing so takes an almost extreme amount of effort. "I think about," he starts, and reminds himself again that he's going to get her back for this, that it's okay for now because he's going to force her down to the same level of humiliation just as soon as he comes, "... about grabbing you, and -- " He slips his hands into her hair and holds on tight, pushing her gently back to his erection, and he sees a little half-smile on her lips before she takes him back into her mouth. " -- oh -- and making you do this until I -- until -- "

"Mm," she comments, because that's about the extent of what she can say while she's sucking on him, rolling her tongue around his cock as she moves slowly up and down, and he never ever wants her to stop. He'll say anything, confess every last fantasy, if it means she'll give him what he wants, what he needs. "More," she urges, the word muffled into his skin.

"I," he gasps, and tangles his fingers through the top layers of her hair, pale and messy, "think about you -- doing this, faster, and -- faster, please, and making me -- " He swallows down a groan, and his entire existence seems to tremble as she quickens her pace, just slightly, just enough to make him notice. " -- making me c -- come -- "

She moans, actually moans, at the word after he says it, and the heat that surges through him in response is sharp and uncontrolled. He tosses his head back and cries out, because he's close again, oh _god_ is he close, and the appreciative sound she makes in response just seals the deal. His hands clench at the bed and he shuts his eyes tight, his bare chest heaving, and not once does she stop moving, god bless her soul. "Pascal," he hisses through clenched teeth, "I'm -- almost -- I'm going to -- "

She still doesn't stop. In fact, she moves even faster, sucking on him harder, and the warmth and pressure is too much for him to take. He gulps down a breath, trying to stave it off, but it does no good whatsoever; there's another bolt of heat, a focused trembling in his groin, and then his whole body gets weak in the way it does right before he's about to lose control. "Pascal," he tries again, but it's too late for warnings, and all he can do is bite down hard on his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from making any loud noises, hoping she gets the idea and pulls away.

At the first pulse of his cock in her mouth she gives a soft, cautious moan, but then there's a squeak of surprise and she moves back, sputtering a bit. He thinks he would feel guilty, but he's currently in the middle of the most intense orgasm of his life, and he can certainly apologize when he's done, can't he?

The pulsing and trembling last longer than he’s used to, beyond the physical result of his climax, and it takes him a while to gather the strength (and courage) to lift his head and open his eyes. As he does, Pascal sits, her fingertips trailing up the front of his still hard manhood, and -- and oh, god, when he sees what he's done to her he's absolutely _mortified_. In the dim light he sees wetness on her lips and the top of her cleavage and on one of her hands, and even in the calm pleasure that usually sweeps over him once he finishes, he is ashamed of having lost control of himself in such a way --

\-- but then she laughs, softly, and he stares at her as she wipes off her mouth with the back of one hand (the one not currently spotted with ... well, that). "Hu," she whispers, "that was... really somethin'..."

"It -- it -- it was what?" he stammers, concerned and confused. "I -- I apologize, I should have stopped you -- "

"No," she cuts him off, and the word is firm and sure and perhaps there's even a little bit of a moan behind it, "nooooo. That was just... hot. Totally, extremely, annoyingly _hot_. You have no idea..." Her amber eyes move to the wetness on her chest, and she touches it, carefully, and then shudders so hard he can actually see her body shake. "You have no idea how turned on I am right now."

He wonders when he's going to stop being surprised by her, by this, by the things she says or does, and decides on never. He swallows, waiting for his heartbeat to slow before he attempts to speak or move again, and in the meantime she pulls off her tank top and uses it to wipe away the mess on her skin before tossing it carelessly aside on the floor. He wants immediately to scold her for being so messy, but then she crawls into his lap and he knows it's useless.

“So…” Her slender arms twine around his neck as she comes close, straddling him, and much to his surprise he can actually feel the heat radiating from her -- from -- from down there, oh lord. "That was amazing," she murmurs, and leans in close, brushing her lips against the side of his neck. " _You_ were amazing."

"Pas -- "

"Shh," she cuts him off, and then she's kissing him, her tongue in his mouth, and he barely cares that only moments before it was his dick in there, and did she swallow any -- ? Well, he can think about that later, much later. He slides a hand up to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and when her breasts rub against his chest she makes a noise that is half frustration and half longing. It's like nothing he's ever heard before, and he is struck by the clear realization that she needs a release just as badly as he did. But he knows she won't beg him for it, because she doesn't want to push him.

He wants, however, to push her -- to grab her and push her hard into the bed and do terrible, horrifyingly immoral things to her until she screams out his name. And so help him, he doesn't think he can stop himself; they've already gone this far, committed this sin, so what does it matter if he goes any further?

And just when he's about to tangle his fingers in her hair again and throw her down to his mattress, she breaks their kiss, heaves a big yawn, and smiles sleepily at him. "I think it's time for bed, yeah?"

He recalls his decision to never be surprised, but he's still so caught off guard that he forgets not to blink and stare at her, open-mouthed. " _Now?_ "

"Well... sure, why not? Aren't you tired?"

"But you just said -- " He watches her climb out of his lap and flop down on the other side of his bed, stretching her arms high above her head, and he realizes that his pants are still pulled down nearly to his knees and scrambles to make himself decent again. "... you just said that you were... that you were..."

"Turned on?" she supplies, and laughs. "Well, yeah. I kinda got all hot and bothered listening to you talk about what you wanted me to do, and watching you lie there and let me do it was... hehe..." As he gets his pants back on, he glances to his side and sees a faint flush on her cheeks, her amber eyes unfocused. "I'm totally exhausted, though. So let's get some sleep. You don't mind if I stay here, do you?"

She doesn't want to talk about the way she's feeling -- he can tell that much. And he's about to call her out on it when he suddenly finds his own mouth captured by a yawn, and that calm, warm pleasure he had been expecting finally catches up with him, replacing the shock and excitement from moments before. Perhaps it would be better if they slept. After all, tomorrow will be Saturday, he thinks, which means they will have the whole day to themselves, and...

And he'll reciprocate tomorrow, he decides, with a slight smile and a tremor of anticipation that he hopes she doesn't notice. Somehow he's looking forward to it. His fantasies aren't all about her doing things to him, after all. One of them, one of his favorites, involves some things he wants to do to her... some very intimate, very experimental things...

"Hu?"

"No. I don't mind." He lies down beside her, drawing in a deep breath, and is relieved when he feels his erection finally starting to recede. He isn't used to staying hard so long after an orgasm. He presses his head into a pillow and sighs, and when Pascal immediately snuggles up to him, he can't help but smile a little.

He reaches for the sheets and draws them up over the two of them before placing an arm around her waist, trying to ignore the fact that she is very, very close to naked, because god help him if he gets another erection right now. "I love you," he thinks to say, and sighs again, not sure if it is appropriate for him to be as relaxed as he is.

"I love you too," she responds, beaming, and kisses him square on the forehead. "Aren't you glad you let me do that? It felt waaaaay better than doing it yourself, right?"

"It did," he admits. "But I... I am still not sure how to feel about..."

"Don't worry about it right now." She kisses the tip of his nose now, then his lips, lingering there a bit longer than the other two spots. "We're not having sex, you know? So it's okay."

"... what did I do to deserve someone so understanding?" he wonders out loud, and hugs her close, returning her kiss with one that is longer and sweeter. She beams at him again in response, but then she yawns a second time and he decides that they're both too tired to continue -- for now. But tomorrow...

Tomorrow's going to be different. He can tell. Something has already changed within him. It's as if he's let go of something, some strange thing holding him back, and whether it's because he's given up on the idea or morality or accepted what they're doing...

"I'm gonna go to sleep now," Pascal remarks, and buries her head in Hubert's chest, smiling against his skin. "Night."

"Good night," he says, and although he thinks he'll be awake for a long while, pondering what it is that he wants, reflecting on what they've just done, trying to decide what the right path to take will be, he falls asleep almost immediately, with the woman he loves snuggled up against him, and sleeps soundly without dreaming until the early dawn.


End file.
